


Enzymes and Cofactors

by niðavellir (KingPreussen)



Series: Biophysics, Relationships, and Other Inscrutable Sciences [2]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mania, Mental Illness, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, Service Kink, peter and wade are in love!!, peter and wade are still in love!!, top!Peter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-05-16 17:03:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14815346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingPreussen/pseuds/ni%C3%B0avellir
Summary: Stark ruffled his hair and smirked at him. "Let me know if you need me to buy you a tux," he said and then swanned out the door without further explanation.Peter just barely kept hold of the envelope. "Tux?" he repeated incredulously, but by then Stark was all the way down the hall, phone up to his ear.---If Wade's middle name is Impulsive, Peter's is Indulgent.update:now in progress!





	1. an invitation to a fancy party

**Author's Note:**

> reading the first work in the series isnt necessary for context, but i wanted to put them together because i think of them as happening in the same universe!
> 
> i dont think i said before but my deadpool is ryan reynolds and i havent seen a spider man movie since tobey so he can be whoever you want haha. but he is an adult
> 
>  **please turn on creators style!** its the button between comments and share at the top of the page
> 
> (peter and wade are more like a multienzyme complex or the subunits of a ribosome than enzyme and cofactor lol)

"Parker!"

Under pain of death, Peter would deny startling at Stark calling his name out of nowhere. The lab was quiet otherwise, all of the graduate students working on their own projects with a minimum of interaction. Peter wasn't even playing his normal playlist of ambient music sans headphones, too engrossed in cutting squares out of an agarose gel with a razor blade. Luckily he didn't ruin his gel when he _definitely_ didn't jump, but he did almost slice his index finger off.

Peter took a deep breath. "Yes, Mr Stark?" he asked, raising his head and spinning his chair toward the door.

Stark, standing in the doorway to the lab, held up an envelope that looked like it was made of heavy cardstock. "Sent one of these babies to your apartment but you didn't reply. Figured you didn't get it, so Pepper told me to bring you one special."

Peter frowned, carefully placed his razor down on the bench, peeled off his gloves and dropped them in the trash, and then stood up and walked over. He could feel eyes on his back but he ignored them, politely lifting the envelope from Stark's hand.

He studied the gold leaf calligraphy of his full name on the face, and then turned it over, blinking at the honest-to-god wax seal on the back. It was dark red and stamped with the Avengers' _A_. "I've… never seen this before," Peter said slowly, turning it again in his hands. He was very sure he'd remember if he had.

"Well there you go." Stark ruffled his hair and smirked at him. "Let me know if you need me to buy you a tux," he said and then swanned out the door without further explanation.

Peter just barely kept hold of the envelope. "Tux?" he repeated incredulously, but by then Stark was all the way down the hall, phone up to his ear. Peter hesitated for a moment until curiosity won out and he returned to his desk to see what was inside.

He used his gel razor to carefully open the envelope and pulled out another piece of cardstock with more calligraphy, this time in black. Peter swore he could _see_ the wealth floating off the paper. He read it through once, and then again, just in case he suddenly lost the ability to understand English and was mistaken.

How had _he_ , 23-year-old Peter Parker from Queens, secured an invitation to Stark's annual Christmas party? Even with the whole Spider-Man thing, he was still small time compared to the Avengers and the richest and smartest that Stark had undoubtedly invited as well. How was he important enough to get an invitation in the first place, and then a second one hand-delivered!?

Peter shuffled through the papers on the far side of his lab bench to find his phone and check the time. Four pm--and he had been at work since before eight, so he didn't feel the slightest bit guilty for, instead of completing his experiment, packing his gel in cling wrap and Kimwipes soaked in buffer and storing it in the refrigerator. He stripped off his gloves and dropped them in the trash before taking off his lab coat and folding it over the back of his chair.

The papers on his desk got a long, contemplative look before Peter decided they would keep. He couldn't remember the last time he had really cleaned off his bench anyway.

He didn't call goodbye to his coworkers, just slung his backpack--with the envelope inside--over his shoulder and went out the door. It would be much quicker for him to websling home, but this early in the evening he didn't want to go through putting on his costume and mask and everything just to take it off when he got home.

Peter took the elevator to the ground floor of Stark Tower and exited through the lobby like everyone else, and then walked to the 77th street metro station to get on the 6 train. Luckily he was missing peak hours or he might have shaken off his laziness and webbed home anyway.

Forty-five minutes and 3/4ths of a podcast episode later, Peter got off the L train at Myrtle-Wyckoff and took a deep, relieved breath of above-ground air. His and Wade's apartment was only a few blocks down from the station, easy to walk after so long seated on the metro's uncomfortable benches, so Peter took his time.

Peter hadn't texted Wade since earlier that morning and didn't plan on doing it now, mostly because surprising him at home always got the sweetest reactions. It was almost like, despite them living together for months, Wade still expected Peter to just not come home one day. The idea made Peter's heart clench uncomfortably, so he thought about what he and Wade would get for dinner instead.

The television was on when Peter finally got to their hallway on the fifth floor. Wade must have been playing a video game, from the intermittent gunfire and explosions he heard through the door. Peter quietly unlocked it and opened it just enough to get inside. Then he closed it with a purposeful _thump_ and watched Wade turn from the couch to look at him.

"Petey!" he shouted and jumped off of the couch, video game abandoned. His character made a pathetic sound as it died but Wade didn't even spare it a glance. "You're home early!"

"Hi Wade," Peter laughed. Wade was practically on top of him now, arms wrapped around his shoulders, pressing kisses in Peter's hair. "Couldn't wait to get home. I missed you."

"Me, too! Oh--" Wade's excited demeanor faded and he stepped back a little, eyes on the ground. Peter took the opportunity to study his face, noticing a new, thin white scar over Wade's eyebrow that hadn't been there that morning. Before he could continue, Peter held Wade's head in both hands and planted a sweet kiss on the scar.

Wade blinked at him, dark eyes going wide and _adorable_. "What's up, honey?" Peter murmured.

"I, uh…." It took a minute for Wade to pick up his earlier train of thought. "I meant to tell you two days ago. Well, I meant to _give_ you, but then I got distracted by making dinner and I can't say I didn't _want_ to tear it up but it was pissing me off, not because it was for you but just it said you could have a plus one and I didn't want you going without me--"

Peter quieted Wade with a kiss on the mouth, not minding how their noses bumped uncomfortably at first. "Babe, let me put my bag down first," he said quietly, tugging at the strap of his backpack on his shoulder. Wade immediately took a step back and Peter internally sighed--when Wade was manic it was hard to catch the tail end of any of his thoughts, and he responded to everything Peter said like it was a criticism. It was so early in the evening of such a low-stress day, though, that Peter wasn't worried about starting an argument.

"Come on," Peter said, toeing off his shoes and taking Wade's hand on his way further into their small apartment. "Bed. I want to cuddle."

Wade's mildly upset expression turned into a grin. "Can't resist my charms, hm, Petey-pie?" he teased, earning an eye-roll.

Peter dropped his bag on his side of the bed and climbed in, still holding Wade's hand, which took some maneuvering. Peter ended up on his back, Wade lying mostly on top of him with his arms folded on Peter's chest and his chin propped on his hands. Titanfall's looping menu sounds acted as a kind of low, odd background music, but Peter was mostly concentrating on running his hands up and down Wade's back through the thin baseball shirt he was wearing that Peter had the sneaking suspicion was his.

Comfortable, and honestly getting a little bit sleepy, Peter asked, "What were you telling me?" He smoothed Wade's worried expression with a gentle thumb on his brow.

"I ripped up something. Your mail."

Now it was Peter's turn to frown. " _My_ mail? What did it say?"

Wade hesitated again. "Invitation. To one of Stark's things, y'know how he holds… things?"

Peter's expression cleared as he began to understand. "The Christmas party this weekend? You tore up my invitation?"

"How'd you know when it is?" Wade asked in a small voice, shifting so he was curled up against Peter's side and didn't have to look him in the eye anymore.

"He gave me a new one today. Explain to me again why you tore it up?"

Wade made a frustrated sound. "Didn't want you to go without me. Stupid," he added in an undertone, lifting a hand to smack himself in the forehead.

Peter stopped _that_ before it started with a firm grip around Wade's wrist. Then he sat up and Wade rolled over onto his back, sinking into the mound of pillows Peter insisted on buying when they moved in together. "I'm not mad, babe. I know 'impulsive' is your middle name," he added with a little grin. "Just… next time, let me know you do something like this, at least? What if it was important?"

"Sorry. I'm sorry, Peter," Wade said from his pillow-fortified position.

"'S okay. I wasn't going to go without you, anyway."

Wade made a curious sound. "But… it's a party? With _Stark_."

"Yep. And you're coming with me, honey." Peter turned over, nudging Wade's legs slightly apart so he could kneel between them and put both hands on Wade's stomach. "You can wear the mask if you want, that's not a big deal to me. What _would_ be a big deal is thinking I would leave you at home. You know how I love showing you off."

The combination of their position and Peter's tone made Wade go quiet, but his eyes were quickly moving over Peter's face. "You don't mind Deadpool being at your fancy party?"

"Not mine, Stark's. And no, baby, I don't." Peter shifted forward a bit and pulled Wade toward him until he was basically in Peter's lap. "You might have to leave Bea and Arthur behind but I'm not gonna ask you… I don't want you to _change_ who you are for me. For anyone. Least of all for Stark," he added in an undertone.

Wade couldn't help but grin. "Hell no, Petey. Still, I know it was fucked up to try to keep it from you."

"Thanks, Wade." Peter turned slightly to web the television remote over and switched to the music input. Wade's tastefully named "(No One Under Eighteen)(Face Savouring Delicious Food)(Eyes)fucking!!!(Sweat Droplets)(Eggplant)(Tongue)" playlist on Spotify began to play while Peter's other hand hitched Wade's shirt to his chest. "Now, how about a proper welcome home?" he asked with a grin.


	2. wade is a service bottom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Mid-afternoon sun poured through the windows on the far wall of the building, drenching Wade in light in a way that Peter knew would make him uncomfortable, but he couldn't stop looking. On a good day, if he told Wade his thoughts out loud he'd get a cute little eye roll and a "that's gay, Pete." He wasn't sure what the answer would be this time, so he kept it to himself._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well i tried to write the party and then somehow ended up with a second chapter? so the party will be in the third?? lol
> 
> i hope you like this. anyone whos read anything i write knows im a sucker for 1) insecurity and 2) hurt/comfort so... if the two of them seem out of character thats why ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> also **please note the rating change**! this chapter has sex in it! if you want to skip it, it starts at "peter allowed himself to be spun back around" and ends at "wade couldn't have looked more like the cat who got the cream". it also has discussion of possible non-con but there is none in the story
> 
> thanks for reading! the actual party is coming soon lmao

The clinking of glass and cheap IKEA flatware in the kitchen sink welcomed Peter home from lab. He wasn't technically on the clock that day, but bacterial experiments waited for no man, and so he ventured out through the cold and snow to Stark Industries on a Saturday. Wade didn't make a fuss--he was oddly quiet, actually, pressing hesitant kisses to Peter's shoulder before he left instead of whining or cracking jokes.

Peter wanted to stay home then, just to make sure Wade would be okay, but… his bacteria won out in the end. "Call me," he insisted, pressing Wade's cellphone into his hands before kissing his forehead and walking out. A few hours later he trudged back inside, wet and cold and generally uncomfortable, and ready for an early afternoon nap before the night's outing.

"I'm home!" Peter toed his soggy sneakers off in the doorway, using one sticky hand to balance himself against the doorframe out of exhaustion. His socks followed, making their own little wet pile that Wade would definitely be on his ass about cleaning up. "I missed you."

"Only four hours," Wade replied in a low voice. Peter was halfway to worrying, but then Wade turned around and winked, an endearingly slanted smile on his face. "Any longer, though, and you'd have to see a doctor!"

Peter's answer was more sigh than laughter. He padded in over to his boyfriend, wrapped both arms around his neck and pulled him down into a proper kiss. Wade was the first to move away but Peter wasn't too nervous, since he only shifted to peck the corner of Peter's lips.

They breathed each other's air for a few seconds. "Thank you for doing the dishes, babe," Peter murmured. "I was gonna get to them, but then the whole Electro thing this week, and I had to repair my suit--"

"And you're a lazy little shit, uh-huh," Wade interrupted, but he was still smiling. Whatever was preoccupying his thoughts earlier in the morning must have passed. "You're lucky you've got good dick, or I'd be long gone."

Peter rolled his eyes, backing Wade into the counter in front of the sink and standing straighter to bring them to more of a height. Under a little gentle pressure Wade bent, physically and emotionally, until Peter was holding a man that could very quickly become a pile of blissed-out mush. All that power would go to the head of a lesser man. For Peter… it was going to a different head.

"Just my dick? What about," Peter asked, gently rolling his hips against Wade's, "My personality?"

"N-nah," Wade stuttered back, "Just the dick."

So stereotypically Wade. Peter rolled his eyes and shook his head, extricating himself and turning toward the bed. "Hey, hey, Petey," Wade protested, catching his hand before he could get too far. He intertwined their fingers and, if Peter _was_ actually mad instead of highly amused, the anger would be long gone. "Come here." Hesitant, as hesitant as he was at eight am, Wade tugged on their joined hands.

Peter allowed himself to be spun back around. "I'm wherever you want me," he said reassuringly.

Wade, soft and familiar in his knockoff Spider-Man tee-shirt three sizes too big, just blinked at Peter. Then he swiftly and silently dropped to his knees. Peter startled a bit, used to his Spidey Sense warning him of sudden movements, but of course it didn't care what _Wade_ did. Wade hadn't ever posed a threat to him on purpose.

Before Peter could say anything, Wade looked up at him, eyes wide and lips parted. "This okay?" he asked breathily.

Peter felt a rush of warmth at Wade's frankly gorgeous expression. He let it take him, leaning against the window beside the kitchen and nodding.

It was a disappointment to have Wade drop his hand, but then both of Wade's were tugging at the fly of his damp skinny jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them with practiced ease. He had Peter's jeans and boxers around his thighs in less than a minute and took even less time getting his mouth on Peter's soft cock.

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Peter groaned, dropping one hand to Wade's shoulder and squeezing. For all his balance and strength he felt like his knees would buckle. Wade wasn't rough with Peter, mindful of his slowly hardening erection, and instead kissed his cock like it was something to worship. His left hand was tight around Peter's thigh, keeping him still--as if he _wanted_ to move--and his right strayed lightly down the shaft and over Peter's balls.

Between being in his early twenties and having a not-insignificant sex drive, it only took a few minutes for Peter's cock to strain red and leaking toward Wade's mouth. "There he is," Wade cooed, using his fingers to gently roll the foreskin away from the head. He kissed the tip and Peter whimpered; his cock throbbed so hard the knees-buckling thing was no longer an exaggeration.

Wade didn't speed up at all, still touching Peter slowly and softly. The scarred texture of his hands and lips dragged against the most sensitive part of Peter's body and the slight catch of skin on skin made Peter moan, embarrassingly high pitched compared to his normal voice.

Sitting back on his heels, Wade opened his mouth and stroked Peter a little faster, aiming the head of his cock at his tongue. His dark eyes didn’t watch the movement of his hand--they were locked on Peter's, and Peter couldn't look away if he wanted to. A fat bead of precome dripped slowly into Wade's mouth and he groaned like he was tasting the sweetest ambrosia.

Peter couldn't take it anymore. He unstuck one hand from the window, which was trying valiantly to hold him up, and wrapped it around Wade's chin, pulling him closer. Wade somehow managed to smirk with his mouth still open, but the expression only lasted a moment. Then his full attention was on making Peter feel mind-numbingly good.

It was _so hot_. Peter felt like his dick would melt, Wade's mouth wet and searing and applying just the right amount of suction. "That's it, baby," Peter praised, both hands at the back of Wade's head, pulling him even closer. Wade liked choking on Peter's cock at every opportunity but he wasn't very good at it ("yet," Wade always said, wiggling his eyebrows) so Peter had to keep him in check.

The praise made Wade moan and tilt his head back, taking down more of Peter's cock until Peter swore he could feel the back of Wade's throat. "You're so good, Wade, I love your m- _mouth_." He trailed off in a groan when Wade swallowed around him. "Careful," he warned breathlessly.

Undeterred, Wade shifted slightly forward on his knees and swallowed again. Peter never really found messy blowjobs particularly arousing until that day; Wade's eyes were half-lidded and unfocused, saliva and precome spilling in a sticky stream out of the corners of his lips as he worked up and down Peter's cock.

Things very quickly became too much. Peter knocked his head back against the glass and stared at the ceiling but it was too late, Wade's expression was burned into his mind and climax was rushing toward him. " _Shit_ , Wade, I'm--" he managed, and then his brain shorted out entirely. 

Wade pulled away and coughed, overwhelmed, but his hand didn't stop stroking hard and fast at the head of Peter's cock. He slowed down--marginally--when Peter began to jerk away, frayed nerves screaming at the friction, but "oversensitivity" didn't really register as a concept with Wade. Peter slid down the wall in a trembling, boneless heap before Wade finally lifted his hand.

Wade couldn't have looked more like the cat who got the cream. He licked his lips and grinned at Peter, and then started mouthing at the sticky fingers of his right hand one by one. "Good?" he asked, voice rasping from how long he'd sucked Peter's cock.

"Mm," Peter groaned in reply. But, soberingly, Wade's sly expression became nervous at his non-answer.

"Did I do something you didn't want?"

Peter frowned, pushing himself up on his hands. "No, Wade, 'course not. You liked it, didn't you?"

"Fuck yeah I did!" Wade exclaimed. He bounced in place a bit but he wasn't really smiling. "I know I'm a fuckin' dead fish in bed, I have to make it good for you _some_ how."

Whatever afterglow was left felt raw and ugly. Peter hurriedly tucked his soft dick back into his pants, almost out of embarrassment. "Let me," he half stated, half asked, putting his hand on Wade's knee. Wade lifted the hem of his shirt a few inches, revealing his own soft cock and sticky wetness on his upper thighs and stomach. Peter couldn't help the surprised "oh" that left his lips.

Wade dropped his shirt and ducked his head. "Making you come makes me come," he admitted in a low voice, like he felt _guilty_.

Peter wasn't the best at communicating with words, but this wasn't something he felt comfortable trying to let go. He slid his hand forward so it was resting on Wade's hip, not minding the sweat-and-dishwater dampness of the edge of his shirt, and quickly thought through his next statement. "Sweetheart," he said softly. "Come to the bathroom with me. Let's clean up."

Wade looked up again. "You're not… mad?"

Peter's heart dropped into his stomach. He knew Wade had clinical, untreated bipolar disorder--there was no way they could be so unbelievably intimate without Peter realizing that--but he hadn't gotten this depressed in months. He wasn't the type to regret or rethink… _anything_ he did 99% of the time, but the other 1% was brutal.

"No, I'm not mad," Peter said clearly. He rested both hands on Wade's hips, looking him straight in the eye despite his own nervousness. "You have no idea how hot it is that I do that to you. I could never be mad about that. But I do think we should get clean before things get even stickier than they are."

When Wade made no move to stand up, Peter stood first, dropping a kiss on the top of Wade's head as he went. Then he crouched and quickly slid his arms around his boyfriend to lift him in a bridal carry.

Wade squawked and grabbed at him like he thought Peter would let him fall. "Christ, Pete, warn a guy!" he yelled, but it was obviously all for show. At least he was smiling for real again.

Their shower was perfunctory. The little cube barely fit the two of them but Peter never let that stop him; he scrubbed Wade down first and then briefly rinsed off his own crotch before turning off the water and stepping out.

"Here," he murmured, grabbing Wade's towel from the rack near the sink and holding it open for him to walk into. Then he gave him a few vigorous rubs--which made Wade laugh, so it was obviously the right decision--and sent him to the bed.

Peter barely passed his own towel over his hair before he shut the light off in the bathroom and rifled through the dresser for something soft to wear. He pulled on an old, ratty pair of sweatpants and smiled as Wade stuck his arms through the matching sweatshirt, already sitting in the middle of the bed in his boxers.

Mid-afternoon sun poured through the windows on the far wall of the building, drenching Wade in light in a way that Peter knew would make him uncomfortable, but he couldn't stop looking. On a good day, if he told Wade his thoughts out loud he'd get a cute little eye roll and a "that's gay, Pete." He wasn't sure what the answer would be this time, so he kept it to himself.

Instead, Peter climbed into bed and sat cross-legged in front of his boyfriend, studying his face. "Hey," he said.

Wade cocked his head. "Hiya!" he replied. "Aren't you tired?"

"I am. But we have to talk."

"No, we don't."

Peter was expecting that response and took it in stride, ignoring the new tightness in his throat. "Yes, we do. Tell me how you're feeling, babe."

"Ready to take a fucking nap."

"Do you feel like you're a dead fish when we sleep together?"

"Pete, just let it go."

"Do I make you feel uncomfortable when we sleep together?"

"Peter--"

"Has there been a time where you wanted to say 'no' but you didn't?"

"No!" Wade looked angry all of a sudden, curling his hands into fists at his sides and glaring at Peter. "Fuck no, fucking Christ."

Finally, a response Peter could work with. He ran his fingers through his damp hair and sighed. "Okay, that's good. Can you tell me where the dead fish thing comes from?"

Wade made an aggravated sound and shook his head. "It's just!" he began with conviction, which told Peter he was about to get the whole answer regardless. "When we first fucked you were on top, right? And I just guessed it was because you didn't really have to touch me all that much, I could just be, like, a quiet hole you could fuck which is more than I deserve, honestly--"

"Honey, back on track," Peter coaxed, trying to subtly blink tears out of his eyes at Wade's casual dismissal of himself.

"Right, yeah. Well, you know, it was easier for you to just fuck me from behind because you didn't have to see my face--I know, I know," Wade said before Peter could interrupt again. "Just stating facts, Pete. But for some fucked up reason, you wanted to fuck me on my back, or let me ride you, and you wanted me to moan and touch you and all that fucking lovey-dovey stuff.

"And I did everything you asked, I-I _want_ to do everything you ask, you're not making me do anything, but you still top without telling me it's your turn. And I know sometimes you're tired and it would be easier for, for _me_ to do it, but you never say anything!"

Wade was half out of breath by the end, and for a moment, Peter sat with his mouth half-open. And then he laughed. Laughing wasn't the right response at all, Peter knew, but he couldn't help it. 

In a few seconds, he got himself under control and wiped his eyes because somewhere in there laughing had turned into crying; Wade wasn't the only one with his emotional ups and downs, even if Peter's were less severe. "Sorry, babe, I was just… surprised. Thank you for explaining."

He leaned forward and kissed Wade's mouth before continuing. "I'm gonna get a little long-winded here, and I don't have the same way with words that you do, so please be patient."

"I don't need--"

"Yes, you do, babe." Peter swiped his arm over his eyes again and cleared his throat. "I'm not trying to dismiss your feelings, or make it seem like I don't care about what you're saying, but this is the definition of a nonissue. I ask you to be yourself in bed because I love you. I like how loud you are, and how much you like kissing. I _want_ to learn your favorite positions."

He touched Wade's cheek, stroking the bridge of his nose with his thumb. "I top because I like it. I like making you happy. I, uh, like being in control, and pushing you down and knowing you like it. Maybe it's the honeymoon phase speaking but I will never be too tired to spread you out in our bed and have you put your hand on your stomach--"

Wade shuddered despite himself, dropping his head to Peter's shoulder, and Peter scooted forward to wrap his arms around Wade's waist. "Sorry," Peter said unapologetically, "Not the time. I know you love bottoming, Wade, you don't have to do something you're not into just because you think I want you to. If, one day, you want to top me, then just ask and that's what we'll do."

They were both quiet for a few minutes. "That was the gayest conversation we ever had," Wade said against Peter's bare shoulder.

"I'm pretty gay for you, babe, so it makes sense." Wade snorted. "We still have to talk this out, y'know. Later. If I don’t get a few hours' sleep right now I'm going to out-menace you at Stark's party and no one wants that."

"I want that," Wade said petulantly.

"I don't." Peter pushed Wade onto his back and kissed his face. "You can get up after I fall asleep if you really want to, but I want you here with me right now."

Wade didn't exactly smile but he also didn't look as sad as he had a few minutes previous. "'Kay. Love you," he murmured.

"Love _you_." Peter sprawled on top of him and, with Wade's warm arms wrapped around his back, he managed to sleep for two solid hours.

* * *

Wade's untold riches certainly came in handy sometimes. While Peter didn't let him take over paying for their whole apartment (he'd managed to argue Wade down to halfsies with the agreement Wade would pay utilities), he frequently dropped stacks to get Peter whatever he needed in an emergency.

When he broke his camera 'cause his bag fell off the top of a building? There was a new SLR sitting in the middle of their bed the next day. When his card got declined while trying to get lunch in midtown? Wade Squared him a hundred dollars from across the country. And now, despite being home for hours, Peter finally noticed a perfectly fitted tux was hanging on their little one-foot-long garment rack, waiting for Peter to put it on.

Peter shook his head fondly, glancing back at the half-closed bathroom door. Wade was taking another shower, claiming Peter's nap made him all sweaty, but Peter wouldn't fault him a moment to himself. It left him time to dress in private.

He put on the dress shirt first, the fabric soft and opaque enough to not need an undershirt. He waffled a bit about underwear, weighing comfort versus ease of access; if he _didn't_ wear them it'd be that much easier to find a secluded corner to bend Wade over in… the thought made a low heat rise in his stomach and he glanced over his shoulder at the bathroom again. After a moment he decided to wear boxer briefs, hoping they didn't "ruin his lines". If they did Wade would remove them with prejudice.

The last thing on the bed was his jacket by the time Wade finished his shower. Peter managed to tie the bowtie himself with a little webbing for backup.

"My baby boy looks awful spiffy!" Wade said, coming up behind Peter and wrapping his arms around his waist. He was warmer than usual due to the shower and smelled soft and familiar. Not for the first time that day, Peter considered asking Wade to stay home with him instead of schmoozing. At this point in preparations he didn't want it to sound like a rejection, or like he didn't want to be seen with his boyfriend.

"Thanks, Wade," Peter murmured. He turned his head and kissed Wade's cheek. "I don't see your tux for tonight."

Wade cleared his throat. "I wanted it to be a surprise, y'know, like a present."

Peter hummed, turning in Wade's hold to cup his face and look into his eyes, and Wade's hands immediately lowered to his ass. "Want me to unwrap you later?" Peter teased with a wink. The scarred and pockmarked face in front of him turned a splotchy, uneven red as Wade blushed. The sight might have given Peter pause a few years ago, but now he just had the urge to kiss every discolored scar individually.

"If you wanna." Wade looked over Peter's shoulder instead of at his face. "If it's not a long night. Bet Stark's gonna have nasty rich people food in tiny ass portions and I'll have to pizza-coma when we get home so I don't starve to death. Died that way a couple times, sucks major shit--well the first time it was dehydration, but really they felt the same--"

Instead of letting Wade ramble--and Peter would, usually, but when he was nervous rambling it got gruesome _fast_ \--Peter gently patted his cheeks to get his attention. "We can both pizza-coma, babe. Go on, get dressed."

"Sit on the couch!" Wade said, morbid mood already shifted back into excitement. "Don't turn around, okay?" Peter smiled and nodded, letting Wade smack a kiss to his forehead and spin him around to face the television. He obediently marched to the couch and sat down.

Wade made a lot of noise as he got dressed, rattling glass bottles and thumping around. Peter was half convinced he was getting dressed in his Deadpool gear, but he didn't turn, resting his chin in his hands. If Wade didn't want to go bad enough to do _that_ then they wouldn't go at all. After all the shit Peter went through that Wade had to deal with, it was the least Peter could do to not make him uncomfortable if he could help it.

And the _way_ Wade dealt with it… who knew a ruthless mercenary could be so sweet? Peter slumped further into his hands, blinking slowly at the black flatscreen. Spider-Man might have been brave and strong, but Peter had triggers. He felt weak most of the time. He didn't like to be touched by people he didn't know, his spidey sense would go wild at abrupt movements, it was hard to handle crowds if he didn't have his mask on. 

Deadpool treated Spider-Man as a coworker--or even a superior--but Wade treated Peter like a person. He respected boundaries and was obsessive about asking for consent, basically the opposite of the mercenary everyone warned Peter about. For all Wade's insecurity, Peter was the one who felt he didn't deserve the man.

"Okay, I'm ready!" Peter shook off his maudlin thoughts and kneeled up on the cushions to see Wade's outfit.

Like the drama-queen he was, Wade wasn't even standing by the bed. A moment after Peter turned he pushed the bathroom door open, walked out like he was on the runway, and did a little pose. "How do you like it?" he asked, smile obvious in his voice… but not on his face, which was covered by the Deadpool mask.

Peter filed that away for later. More important things were begging his attention, like the way Wade's black trousers clung to his thighs and his deep red waistcoat showed off the smooth plane of his abs. He wore a matching red tie that looked like it was made of silk, and even had a goddamn _pocket square_ in his jacket.

Apparently Peter stared for too long. Wade took a step backward, dropping his pose and crossing his arms over his chest. "I-I have other things--"

"Babe, you look perfect!" Peter vaulted the back of the couch and immediately wrapped his arms around Wade's shoulders. "I love it. I love you." He didn't attempt to lift Wade's mask, instead gently cupping the back of his head to tilt his face down for a kiss over the fabric. "We do need to get going, though. I'll call Dopinder from your phone."

Wade shook his head, but not hard enough to knock Peter's hands away. "He's at Sister Margaret's with Weas."

Peter cocked an eyebrow. " _With_ Weas?" he asked.

"I try not to think about it."

The laughter that burst out of Peter was part actual humor and part relief that Wade had similar minded people around him that he felt comfortable with. Peter wasn't exactly flush with friends himself, but he knew it was important to not just rely on a significant other for friendship. He and MJ had fallen apart because he relied too much on her companionship instead of keeping up with anyone else.

Funnily enough, Peter didn't miss their romantic relationship at all.

He kissed Wade again. "Lyft it is," he said agreeably.


End file.
